Golden rays glimmered through lace curtains and warmed
Josephine’s broad shoulders as she sat in her floral upholstered wing-back
chair darning her husband’s socks. Her
children were still at school, and her husband was at the work. A loud rap on the front door jolted the
peaceful silence that had permeated the house, causing Josephine to drop her
sock with surprise. Her dress rustled
against the hardwood floor as she strode to the door.
“Oh my, Mr.
Richards, please do come in!”
She stood aside,
and Richards nodded his head in gratitude as he walked in slowly. His thinning hair was unkempt, as though he
had run his hand through it several times, his clothes were wrinkled, and his
eyes looked red and puffy.
“Won’t you sit down?” She gestured to the cream colored sofa. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thank
you. I couldn’t possibly rest, or do
much of anything at the moment.”
“Whatever is the
problem? I’m afraid my husband isn’t
here right now, but perhaps I can relay the message to him.”
“That won’t be
necessary. What I need to say concerns
you.”
“Me?” Josephine’s
eyes prickled with fear.
“You, and your
sister.” Richards swallowed hard and
readjusted his glasses from slipping off his perspiring face. “Josephine, I have heard some terrible
news. I did not want to believe it, but
I just received a telegram that confirmed it.
Brently Mallard is dead.”
Josephine stared
at him blankly, hardly moving a muscle.
“I found out late
last night,” Richards continued. “A
telegram came in, saying that the train trestle over Plover Ravine had finally
given way. The train plummeted over
fifteen feet. There was a terrible fire
afterwards. It took some time for men to
get down there and look for survivors. A
second telegram followed a few hours later.
Brently’s name appeared on the list of passengers who were killed
instantly.”
Once this
information sunk in, Josephine was the one who needed to sit down. She held her hand upturned on her forehead
and let out a moan, “Oh my poor sister!”
She took out an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her
eyes.
Richards gave her
a moment to compose herself. He sniffed
away any sadness that had started creeping upon him again before he
continued. “Considering the state of
your sister’s health,” he explained, “I could not tell her the news
directly. I decided that I should tell
you. I was sure you would know a
delicate way of handling your sister.”
“Yes,” she
sighed, thinking about how depressed her sister would be after hearing the
news. She envisioned that the news might
cause her sister’s frail body to have a heart attack right in front of her. Josephine shook the image from her mind.
“Thank you for
telling me first, Mr. Richards. You did
the right thing.”
“I thought we
should tell her now. There is no sense
in denying the inevitable.”
“I suppose you
are right.”
Josephine
stiffly arose from her sofa and arranged for her next door neighbor to look
after her children before she rode with Richards to her sister’s house. All the way there Josephine rehearsed in her
mind what she would tell her sister. She
worried over which words would deliver the least damaging blows. At length, she decided the best course of
action would be to discuss with her sister how death was a normal part of life
and how a woman as young as her would have a good chance of getting another
husband. Josephine and her husband could
house her until she was able to be supported again.
The chestnut mare
whinnied as the carriage stopped in front of Mr. Mallard’s house. Richards helped Josephine down from the
carriage, and they walked up to the front door.
“Are you ready?”
he asked her.
Josephine took a
deep breath in, and when she exhaled, she found an inner strength. “Yes, I am.”
She knocked softly on her sister’s door and swept a stray brown lock of
hair from her forehead as she waited.
The door squeaked
open, and a thin-faced woman about a head shorter than Josephine stood there, a
broad smile spreading across her pallid face when she saw who her company was.
“Josephine! Mr.
Richards! What a pleasant surprise!
Please come in.” Mrs. Mallard
ushered her guests inside.
Her sister’s cheerful demeanor made the news
Josephine had to deliver weigh heavier on her heart. How could she tell her sister that her
husband was dead, his body charred beyond recognition? She tried to push the emotion aside.
“How are you
feeling, Louise, darling?”
“Quite well,
sister, thank you. And yourself?”
“Well.” Josephine hesitated. “Louise, you know that I am always here for
you, right?”
“Yes, of
course. You’re a wonderful sister.”
“No matter what
happens I will try to help you in any way that I can.” She looked towards her sister, who was
puzzled now but nodded as an encouragement to continue. “It pains me to have to tell you this, Louise,
dear, but I am afraid you will be on your own for quite some time.”
Mrs. Mallard’s
brows were furrowed. “What are you
talking about?”
Josephine
squeezed her sister’s hand tightly. “Try
to remain calm. I know your future looks
uncertain now, but my Henry and I will be there for you every step of the
way. You are a brave woman and still
have your beauty. You will do fine for
yourself.”
“Josephine,” Mrs.
Mallard’s voice rose sharply, “please stop speaking in riddles and tell me what
is the matter!”
She uttered
softly, “Brently has passed on to a better place.”
“What?!”
Josephine allowed
Richards to fill in the gaps and looked despondently on at her sister wailing
as the realization of Mr. Mallard’s death sunk in.
“I can’t imagine
what pain Louise must be in right now,” she reflected. “My life would end if Henry died. Life is too scary to think about with no one
there to protect you.” She shuddered and tried to think of something more
positive. “But Louise will be alright. With time, she can overcome her grief and get
married again. Maybe can even have a
child this time!”
After Mrs.
Mallard had cried every tear she had, she announced that she wanted to go to
her room for a few minutes. Josephine
offered to follow her, but she curtly said wanted to be alone. Helplessly, she
watched as Mrs. Mallard ascended the winding staircase to be alone with her
thoughts.
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